And Then I Became My Mother

Tonight Ryan and I decided to take Meg and Luke to see the latest way to make money off the holidays: "Zoo Lights." As the name implies it is brightly colored light displays sprinkled throughout the zoo, so that people can pay six dollars a head to look at them, while simultaneously bothering animals that really would rather be asleep. Oh, and eat deep fried s'mores. It's a good time.

Actually, most of the animals didn't seem that bothered by the lights, or the people, or the jackasses that pounded on the glass due to the shortage of zoo keepers that wwork nights. I think they must have been in the Christmas spirit. After all, how else would you explain the tiger nativity? Yes, I know that's just their sleeping quarters and not a manger, but then why was the smallest one wrapped in swaddling clothes?

The kangaroo was the only animal that really seemed agitated by the whole thing, jumping around it's enclosure like it was at a rave. I wasn't quite sure what was going on, until I heard the teenage boy behind me say to his (slutty, trust me, I know) girlfriend: "I bet I can hit him with another snowball."

Before I knew what came over me I whirled around with fire in my eyes. "What?" I hissed. He visibly shrank. His girlfriend's mouth hung open, in a half laugh, half silent shriek. "Sorry," he mumbled, and they both walked off.

I felt so cool. Luke and I did a fist bump.

When we caught up with Ryan and Meg I relayed the story, expecting Ryan to be really impressed with my badassery (it's a word). I was shocked when he shrugged. "You're the face of authority to them," he said, "of course they're going to turn tail and run."

Um, in case that wasn't clear, my husband called me old. OLD!

I AM NOT OLD!

I am the person mistaken for 25 ALL THE TIME! I am the one mistaken for Meg's "babysitter," and not just because she's African American. I listen to Kanye! And the Decemberists! Just because I am "technically" old enough to be the mother of a teen doesn't mean I am "old." I am youthful! I am vibrant! I only use Oil of Olay as a preventative measure! I am old enough to buy booze and forget anyone called me old!

Oh, thank God for that last one.

Maybe I'll give some to the kangaroo too.

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The Greatest Blog Post in the History of Blogging

I had the best idea for a blog post last night! I remember it coming to me just as I went to sleep and thinking "that will be awesome." It was funny, and poignant, and topical. It was a blog topic that would bring out the respect and awe of all of humanity, even those who hate blogs. And those who didn't feel awe? They would feel envy. THAT is how good this post was going to be.

I really wish I could remember what it was.

I am pretty sure it had something to do with Meg. Or maybe I was thinking it was awesome because it didn't have to do with Meg, so it would be totally out of the ordinary. I KNOW it had something to do with food, since that's pretty much all I think about this time of year. But, was it food I love or food I hate? Maybe it was food I used to love, but now I hate. Maybe it was about food I wish I hated but really love. Maybe it was about the memory boosting foods I obviously should be eating.

Dammit.

I actually started writing down my blog ideas in my phone earlier this year just for occasions like this. On that list right now? "Ahh bra," and "Dyson guy." Yeah, I don't know what either of those mean either. Neither one sounds like a post I would want to read though.

I really should have written this idea down. I thought about it. Then I thought, "nah, this is too great of an idea to go away." I shouldn't listen to myself.

Could it have been something about the Dyson guy wearing an ahh bra? Or an ahh bra with tornado suction? I'm guessing not.

Maybe you should just move along now. This is embarrassing for both of us.

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What Sound DOES A Crow Make?

Children's music is pretty much the only thing on the playlist around our house right now. It's actually fine, because it means that we get to watch Meg dance all the time, and because a lot of it is the old Broadway musicals that I used to listen to when I wanted to be Mary Martin and regularly fell in love with gay men. You know, my 20's.

Meg's favorite of the musicals is "Peter Pan" and she is especially fond of the song "I Gotta Crow." I think it's the fact most of the song is actually trying to make one's voice as annoying and screechy as possible. However, no matter how hard she tries, Meg is the furthest thing from screechy, instead just always falling on adorable. Last night I wanted Ryan to see just how adorable; so when he came home I asked Meg to crow for Daddy. She made a sound kind of like a giggling rooster crossed with a velociraptor.

"That's not the sound a crow makes," he said.

"Well, it's not supposed to be," I said. "I think it's supposed to be more like a rooster."

"Roosters don't crow."

"Yes, they do."

"No they don't. They say 'cock a doodle doo'."

"Are you really getting technical with me?"

"Well, what's next? Teaching her a pig says 'meow'?"

"It's from 'Peter Pan'!"

"Well, that's just irresponsible."

Obviously he never wanted to be Mary Martin. Or fell in love with gay men.

Well, I guess there really should only be one in every household.

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Seventeen Months

I really love her hair.

Meg has a TON of hair and every strand of it is gorgeous. Up until recently I would just make sure it was combed, and clean, and leave it alone. After all, that's all I know how to do with mine. However, now with her constant movement, and the sheer volume of the hair on her head, we have had to start getting into styling. So far, we have made it up to ponytails, little twists, and clipped back look above. I would like to do more with it, but, as I said above, I am hardly a stylist; plus making Meg sit still for any extended period of time is more difficult than negotiating a nuclear treaty with North Korea. After all, I doubt Kim Jung Il tries to scratch out eyes when he has had enough. Or maybe he does. That would explain a lot.

So far the best way to get Meg to sit still while I do her hair is to turn on that dreaded Baby Einstein video and let her watch it while she sits in the "big girl" chair. The added bonus of that for me is that she kind of looks like Edith Ann while she's sitting there. And that's the truth.

Of course, when Meg is done letting me play with her hair I usually give her a treat, and right now her favorite treat is pie. Thanksgiving was an absolute revelation for her in the introduction of pie to her diet, and now that is what she wants whenever she is asked what she wants to eat. The majority of the time that isn't what she gets, but I give her an A for effort.

Meg's vocabulary continues to expand and, in addition to "pie" she now says "outside," "sorry," "pretty," and my personal favorite "hello." Up until now she would just say "hi" or "hey," but now she greets every person, animal, and thing with a full throated "hello." It sounds exactly like Lenny and/or Squiggy, and I love hearing it every time.

What a wonderful, wonderful girl.

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The Blog Menace

I have horrible news.

No, really, I mean it. It's awful.

It might just ruin my life.

Tara is thinking of starting a blog.

Now, I am trying to be supportive, but really, I don't know how much longer I can keep up this charade. It's like trying to pretend everything is okay -- when the giant spaceships from "Independence Day" are hovering overhead. Oh, and unlike the losers in that movie, I know they do not come in peace.

First of all, there is the fact that Tara knows about me. A LOT about me. A lot about me I haven't put on this blog. Yes, I know that's shocking considering I have written posts like this one, but it's true. She could totally ruin my rep; and she would have good reason to -- considering I have posted pictures of her like the one below.

I know, I'm an awful friend. I deserve whatever Internet vengeance she has to dish out. I just don't really want to face it. Is that so wrong?

Also, there is the fact Tara has a baby almost as cute as Meg. I mean, fractions of a millimeter away cute. Plus, she's only four months, so who knows how her cute will grow in the future? I don't know if I can risk that. I mean, not for me, but for Meg. Really, won't someone think of the children?

Lastly, and I know this is ridiculous, but there is the slightest, most miniscule possibility Tara may be funnier than I am. I know, I know, that's like saying spiders are cuter than kittens, and pickle juice tastes more delicious than wine, but it is a real concern. I mean, in social settings she has been compared to a young Gallagher. I can only hope the watermelon thing won't transfer online very well.

I just hope that, of she does decide to blog, you will join me in shunning her, and let your friends know to shun her too. After all, there is only room for one sarcastic 30-something blonde with a baby, a dog, and a bad attitude on the Interwebs, right?

Right?

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Meg Doesn't Do Homonyms

Meg is now past the age where I can take her into a toy store without fearing total bedlam. She no longer will just sit on my hip, content to look just with her eyes and not her hands. Now she wants to push off from me like a rocket, launching herself towards anything that catches her fancy. She never really focuses on anything for long, instead just trying to take everything in, making sure she doesn't miss anything. Oh, and the smaller something is? The better.

The other day we found ourselves at a toy store that specializes in rubber figurines. You know, the kind that every kid collects, and that every parent eventually almost cripples themselves stepping on. Meg was enraptured. I had no idea how I was going to get her away. She wandered from shelf to shelf, oohing and ahhing, and very carefully picking things up and putting them back. I was just about to resign myself to having to buy at least one to get her out of there when she turned around and smiled, holding a very small, very determined looking knight. "Did you find a knight," I said. "Knight?" she answered. "Yes, that's a knight," I replied. She looked perplexed, and then very carefully turned around and placed the little figure on it's side. "Night, night," she said, and led me away from the figurines, her finger against her lips in a "shhhh" gesture.

Best trip to the toy store ever.

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Ghost in the Machine

I got an email from my friend Jane last night, which is interesting only because she has been dead for almost five years.

I think it's obvious what happened: the virus that has been plaguing everyone's inboxes somehow got passed onto her old account, and sent out to everyone in her address book. However, for just a second, when I saw her name pop up in my inbox, I didn't think that. It actually took me moment to remember she's gone. In that split second I was just getting an email from my friend Jane, that would probably mock me, or annoy me in some way. I really liked that instant; probably because, even almost five years later, I still haven't been able to let Jane go.

Jane's number is still in my phone, even though I have changed phones numerous times. Her email is not only still in my address book, but in the "first contact friends" file. There are still times when something will happen, and I realize Jane would be the only person to truly appreciate it. I really can't believe she didn't get to meet my daughter, or her nieces, or any of the other fabulous children that are now in the lives of her friends and family. Those kids are definitely missing out, if for no other reason than she would have taught them really dirty jokes. I can't believe she missed out on Obama becoming President. She would have loved that. Oh, and the Kardashians! I know she would have been totally obsessed, all the while pretending she knew nothing.

Sigh.

Now I kind of wish someone would hack her account again. I would even click on the link.

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